


Pleas for Forgiveness

by androgenius



Category: Nancy Drew (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Incest, Parent/Child Incest, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Carson discovers that Nancy's been exploring her own development, he can't help himself. Nancy comes home early to find the surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleas for Forgiveness

He's not sure when his baby girl stopped looking like a little lady and became a proper woman, but it's there. It stares Carson in the face on an almost constant basis, mocking him derisively whenever she comes back from another case, and he won't stop tutting about her well-being, and how she needs to be more careful out there. How she always manages to get herself into dangerous situations is enough to make him want to lock her down permanently at times, but then she always returns, seeming to look older with every single case she puts behind her. 

Of course, it puts the issue of Ned in the forefront of his mind more often, Carson commenting with greater and more punishing threats with every one of Ned's visits to the house, but they all seem to fall on empty, hollow ground. A part of him wants to ask Nancy about-- things; learn just _how much_ his baby girl has grown. But he always loses his nerve, Carson pulling on his tie somewhat as he swallows the words down again, busying himself with something else, like dinner-- promptly messing it up just enough for Hannah that she ends up shooing him out of the kitchen again.

When he first tried to have _the talk_ with Nancy at fourteen, Nancy was mortified, sticking her tongue out at him in obvious disgust before dashing up to her room in utter revulsion and horror. 

Carson had felt so flustered by that point, that he hadn't even bothered with other alternatives, simply turning to Hannah to beg her to explain sex to Nancy. 

Beyond that, it's all a big mystery. What did Hannah tell Nancy? Had Nancy put any of it into action? Was she curious? 

Not knowing has always been Carson's great defeat, curiosity getting the better of him, as though everything was and is intrinsically his business in his eyes. 

Like keeping his daughter safe, and in line. Making sure she's-- managing herself.

He hates himself just for thinking about it, for thinking about Kate when he sees her going up the stairs sometime, his mind cutting back to times he used to chase his wife up the stairs only to pin her down on the bed with a grin, touching eagerly. 

But they'd been married at the time, and they weren't related, and her sexual business _was_ his business, even the time that she and Moira-- 

But no one ever spent the night in Nancy's room that wasn't Bess or George, which did make him start to wonder if she didn't take after her mother in that regard, too, if Ned was just a careful cover-up in a series of female indiscretions... 

It was this very elaborate line of thinking that lead Carson Drew to where he is now, Nancy's bedroom, feeling like a felon with the rest of the house out and absent-- Hannah in Florida visiting Aunt Eloise, Nancy on a case in New Zealand-- rifling through her things in a sudden and desperate attempt to find condoms. 

It's a hail mary pass, in a way. He knows he won't find any, but it won't stop him from looking for them like a frenzied madman, either, Carson growling to himself as he opens up her pantydrawer in her dresser. 

He has to give it to her. Most of it is completely decent-- there are even some granny panty-lookalikes that he catches sight of with a breath of sheer relief. 

And then, to his great horror, he finds a thong. And then another.

Nancy had only not done laundry prior to leaving because Carson had promised her he'd take care of it. That's how this all got started in the first place-- Carson-- having waited for the last day before Nancy would be back-- going through the laundry and not finding anything even remotely suspicious. Nancy had even pre-treated any dirty stains before throwing them in the wash, anything but careless. 

Which means that if she was hiding condoms around here... 

Not that they're his main focus anymore, Carson just in general trying to find anything about his daughter that doesn't fit the perfect picture of her he's so neatly painted in his mind. Nancy-- devoted, headstrong, chaste. 

In so many ways, Nancy reminds him of Kate, and when he first stumbles upon the pictures going through her phone, he has to wonder if he's not actually looking at Kate herself, his breath catching as he lets himself sink down on the bed. 

A part of him wonders if she's sent them to Ned, or one of her friends-- maybe she was just trying to get someone's unbiased opinion, after all, get Bess or George to sign off on how good she looks before going on a date with Ned, not that there have been too many of those in a while. The pictures are recent, though, and Carson admires the dress on her even given the angle that seems to almost highlight her breasts, rather than hide them. 

Then he makes the mistake of continuing. 

She's wearing unbelievably little, as though the picture series involved a story with her eventually getting tired of just wearing a dress, needing instead to model in front of her big mirror herself in nothing but one of those thongs and a bra. 

Swallowing hard, he sets her phone aside, and keeps working on laundry, officially disgusted with himself and the fact that they made his cock twitch at all.

He does his best to go through the rest of his routine, normal, finishing getting the laundry in the dryer and going to load the dishwasher, cleaning the kitchen. But it's impossible. Whenever he so much as lets his thoughts stray, whenever he closes his eyes, all he can see is Nancy wearing nothing but matching lacy, white lingerie. 

Finally cursing himself, Carson sets aside his fourth tumbler of whiskey and his paper and goes back upstairs, making his way back into Nancy's phone to keep going, too drunk to care otherwise. There are a good dozen pictures of her in those lacy white things, all of which are more than enough to get him fully hard, leaning back on her bed as he thinks about Kate, remembering the time they first had sex, both of them soaked through to the core from the rain only to end up in the shower together, exploring each other's bodies in the warm heat. 

He imagines Nancy can't be so different-- she's almost as old as his wife was when they first met, and there are times he can't help but think that they look so much alike. Nancy sounds like her mother, talks like her mother, walks like her mother... which does nothing for her father as he watches her leave, over and over again, acting every bit the part of being her mother's daughter.

It makes him wish he knew if she would love his cock as much as his wife certainly seemed to, Carson pulling a hand over his forehead, sweat starting to gather from his own guilt and self-restraint intermingling. 

Pushing his glasses up on his forehead to make the pictures of Nancy just a touch blurrier, he goes to the next picture, getting a good look of her naked form, the shot taken almost artistically, Nancy's hand over her nipples and turned away just enough to cover up anything important. With the slight blur to it, she looks almost exactly like her mother, and finally Carson decides, to hell with it all, and unzips his fly, starting to jerk himself off. He can't help it-- he's tired of pretending, tired of coming in his sleep into his boxers because of persistent wet dreams, Carson himself too ashamed to usually take the time to please himself.

The problem is that his thoughts only ever turn back to Nancy eventually, a groan leaving him as he squeezes the head of his cock with a grunt.

"Nancy--" spills past his lips before he can stop himself, almost slurred, just scrolling to the next picture of her gorgeous bare tits. She probably sent them to Frank, knowing how much those two talk, how Frank tends to look at her whenever him and his brother are in town. He recognizes that expression in his eyes-- can't even fault him for it, not with the smacking noise of his own hand moving up and down his cock accompanying the fantasy.

Maybe it's Frank, then. Frank Hardy, who has his baby girl bent over the edge of the kitchen table, growling her name and pounding into her precious pussy as Nancy screams for it. Frank wants her as much as Carson does, when he's drunk and willing to admit that he couldn't help himself, just looking for an excuse to try and find evidence around the room, anything to make him feel less like a horrible human being and a bad father for thinking about these things, doing these things with his baby girl.

The problem with being drunk and without his glasses, eyes glued to her cell phone screen and only the sound of his hand jerking up and down his cock audible to him, is that he misses Nancy's arrival back at home. 

Togo seems to notice something, but his barking is not enough to draw Carson out of his reverie as he stares at his exhibitionistic baby girl wearing nothing but a thong to cover her beautiful cunt.

He thinks he hears Kate's voice-- no, Nancy's voice-- chiding him in the back of his mind, but just as soon as it was there, it's gone again, and Carson keeps going, his hand starting to become frantic as he scrambles for his glasses to get a better look, no matter how _boudoir_ and _artistic_ these shots seem to be. There's always a little treat she gives away there, like just a hint of nipple--

"Ah, fuck, _Nancy_ \--"

  
  
&  
  
  


Mr. Marvin had been nice enough to pick up all three girls from the airport after their slightly early return from New Zealand, and Nancy had made a quiet entrance in through the garage to greet Toto with a smile.

She sees all the little signs of him around the house, the tumbler on the living room table, the newspaper, his plate from dinner that he forgot to wash up. Just not him. 

It's only on the way up the stairs with her luggage that she ends up hearing something strange-- thinking she hears something strange-- and makes her way upstairs.

"Dad?"

Setting it down, she slips out of her shoes, sneaking the rest of the way upstairs. If there's been some kind of break-in-- someone rummaging around her room--

But then she stops short in front of her door, her breath catching at the sound of her father's voice. So she hadn't been wrong, thinking she'd been hearing him. She'd just been wrong about _what_ \--

" _Nancy--_ "

There are only two options, Nancy swallowing hard as she slowly sinks down along the wall to the ground, listening closely. Either her father is dying, or-- 

"Ah-- fuck, Nancy--"

He's not dying. 

Nancy feels a flush start to gather on her cheeks, spreading back to the tips of her ears and the back of her neck, everything burning as she stares at the door, feeling herself start to get wet. 

Her sexual awakening has been a personal, private one, Nancy trying to discover herself and her own body on her own time. Less private now, her father seeming to have stumbled across the pictures in her phone, likely-- or the ones on her computer, or in her trunk-- 

Swallowing hard, she closes her eyes, her hand moving down to slip under her sensible, knee-length floral skirt to move up it, pushing aside her plain, white, cotton panties to tease her clit with the tip of her finger, her father setting the soundtrack to this particular session as she whimpers at the sound of her father moaning her name again.

" _Nancy_ \--!"

It's obvious from his low, long groan when he comes, and Nancy scrambles to get up, racing back down the stairs to put her shoes away and set her luggage aside in the foyer, finally just going to hide in the kitchen to heat up her leftover dinner he put in the fridge for her-- with a little note and everything.

> _Save for Nancy coming home tonight!!!_

  


By the time her father comes down into the kitchen, looking more than a little flustered, she's still just as weak in the knees as she felt when she sank to the floor upstairs. 

"Oh, I didn't know you'd already--"

"I was hungry--" she explains, her cheeks going pink as she smiles at him. "And I didn't see you when I came in."

"Yeah, sorry about that, kiddo. I must have fallen asleep upstairs."

"Good nap?" 

"Yeah, just a bit--" He clears his throat. "Disorienting."

By the time Nancy finally makes her way upstairs to her bedroom, there's almost no evidence of her father's presence having ever been there-- nothing but the spot on her comforter where he tried to clean his come off after-- proof, if nothing else, that her father wants her just as much as she wants him sometimes, when the nights get long and she wishes she could make him miss her mom a little less.

_Maybe next time_ , she promises herself quietly, _she'll open the door._


End file.
